


Vigil

by Port



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comatose Dean, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port/pseuds/Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Dean sleeps through a coma, Sam does what he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilla/gifts).



> More coma!fic for smilla02. Beta’d by carina84 on LJ – thanks m’dear! Comments are love! ♥

_Hiss_ goes the respirator by Dean’s head.  
 _Hiss…._

Keeping the time of Dean’s pulse,  
the heart machine goes _Beep… beep_ ….

Hoarse now, you have been reading  
romance novels by lamplight aloud to your brother,  
waiting for him to laugh.  
 _Ha_! he’d go.  
 _Ha-ha_!

Your mirror image is rough,  
like after days hiding in a cabin  
from the law, no hot water.  
 _Drip-splash_ goes the hospital faucet.  
 _Drip-splash_.

The doctors will let Dean vegetate  
as long as you need. But they asked you  
once to sign a DNR.  
 _Fuck_ the doctors.  
 _Fuck, fuck_.

His heartbeat slows, a resting, slumping thing  
that stagnates day by day. It soothes you, despite  
the fear it carries, like a dreadful lullaby.  
 _Hush_ it sings.  
 _Hush-hush_

You have told him all your secrets. Now he knows  
about the woman you killed, the places you want to visit.  
Then you think, Can you die of disgust?  
Your jaw goes _click_.  
 _Click-click_

You and Dean made a pact. No  
faith healers, no selling your soul.  
No one’s coming to save your brother.  
 _Crack_! against the wall go your knuckles.  
 _Crack_!

His bloodless fingers contrast with the  
livid pink of your knuckles. You weave your  
fingers through his, smudging the dried blood.  
 _Snuff_ goes your nose.  
 _Snuff-snuff_.

The preponderance of noise  
about your brother rises sharply,  
and the nurses call the doctors, usher you away.  
You decide not to wait inside, but in  
the car, which welcomes you silently.

Like a discarded wrapper, you lie on the backseat,  
flat and knowledgeable as a road map.  
You don’t leave the car until the afternoon.  
 _Slam_! goes the door,  
Just your door.

Slip go the sliding automatic doors when you  
enter the ward. You don’t know if you  
should be looking for his bed, if he still has one.  
But a nurse looks up and smiles.  
She smiles at you.

Your brother is where you left him,  
stark white but breathing.  
You lean down and kiss his cheek.  
 _Scratch-scratch_ goes his stubble  
against your lips.

Now you want to do something  
for him, something to express—  
something to _thank_ him for living.  
 _Whirr_ goes the secondhand  
tape player.

_can’t_  
 _you_  
 _hear_  
 _me_  
 _knockin’_

_and_  
 _the_  
 _wind_  
 _cries_  
 _Mary_

_gonna_  
 _be_  
 _a_  
 _heartache_  
 _tonight_

You rest your feet on his bed  
and hope the welling color in his face  
and hands isn’t your imagination.  
 _Tap-tap_ go your fingertips.  
 _Tap-tap_

When he opens small eyes crusted with yellow sand,  
blinks a lot, and closes them again,  
your pulse and his quicken in tandem.  
 _Gasp_! you go.  
 _Dean, do that again_.

The next morning, he again opens his eyes.  
You have cleaned them out. You turn down the lights.  
You say his name.  
 _Dean_ you say.  
And he goes, _Sam_.

End.


End file.
